


Hunter-eyed, knife-handed

by LaughableLament



Series: Supernatural Poetry Month [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Bunker domestic, Embedded Images, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Graphic Poetry, Hot Nonsense, M/M, POV Monster, Poetry, Post-Episode: s12e07 Rock Never Dies, Prayer, S12e17 The British Invasion, Season/Series 08, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Self-Insert, Unreliable Witnesses, check the chapter headers, collection of poems, honestly i gave up on these tags, mild h/c, non-explicit Wincest, non-explicit het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:10:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: Collected works fromspnapoduring NaPoWriMo 2017.(A/N: cross-posted at the comm andmy Tumblr.)





	1. Silhouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is waiting in the dark.

Streetlamp-backlit branches whisper-rake. Breeze  
dies. Porch boards, doorknob, hinges creak-click-squeak.  
Hunter-eyed, knife-handed silhouette creeps.  
_Whaddaya talk. I’m a fuckin ninja_  
on the wind, who listens, speaks: _I’m waiting_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: "Shadowy Entry" (gif embedded)


	2. Buzz/Feed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brightest spot in Purgatory

Vampires say one of theirs killed an angel.  
  
Levis say theirs killed the angel _and_ the vamp.  
  
Wendigoes say, was a man who hunted the angel.  
  
Rougarous say no, vampire hunted the man.  
  
Werewolves say the man merged with the angel.  
  
Shifters say neither one of them survived.  
  
Vetalas swear there were dozens of angels.  
  
Trickster insists, angel’s still alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: The brightest spot in Purgatory


	3. LOLSam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam keeps secret pets in the Bunker. Pass it on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to [saintedsam](http://saintedsam.tumblr.com), who supplied me with the secret-pet headcanon and thus delivered boundless joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Familiars


	4. Refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild Wincest, Bunker domestic-ish

Drivin Kansas summer squalls  
worse than the monsters  
sometimes. Hailstone dimes,  
_Sorry Baby_ ,  
and winds so bitter he’s  
practically tackin out here.  
  
Garage doors trundle open,  
welcome wide as a mother’s—  
  
Bags over shoulders,  
under eyes, slog stairs,  
crack of jokes and joints.  
  
Firewater in crystal  
cups seeps sweet down to  
the bones. Sourmash  
solace, library lamp-  
shades of his brother’s eyes  
when he tilts his glass right.  
  
Rack time tangles t-shirts,  
sheets, fingers and five-o’clock-  
shadows and some old gag  
about traumatizing  
the memory foam.  
  
Ain’t, picket-fence or  
apple-pie, but the storm  
beats down up overground—  
muffled rumble here, brother-  
bunkered under brick and dirt  
and ward and mortar;  
family foxholed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the [beautiful response from crowroad](http://spnapo.livejournal.com/26710.html)!!
> 
> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Lebanon


	5. Morning Afterthought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ketch/Mary, S12e17 spoilers

You didn’t think it’d be a mistake  
til he soft-eyed, fancied  
something _else_ , like you thought  
you’d built before it burned  
with your first meat.  
  
Ketch.  
Thumbtip traced his  
cross-inked hand.  
Arthur.  
  
No, no it’s quite all right Mary.  
  
And, naked-man-blustering has  
always socked your funny bone,  
and you smiled but he saw,  
and he shuttered,  
and you stuttered.  
  
Father’s voice:  
‘You gotta watch yourself  
around hunters, Mary-bear.  
They’re not stable.’  
  
Wonder whether one day you’re  
gonna have to shoot _him_ ,  
bullet to the lullaby  
heart you laid an ear on.  
Wonder whether you’ll regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Hangover


	6. Frankentruck!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prose poem(?), angsty anthropomorphizing

Frankentruck started as a sixty-something sky-blue F-Series, best anybody can remember. Auction pick-up, smashed in the front-end: Fender, headlight, and chrome clipped clean off. Years in the yard before Bobby fixed him. Pulled parts off two, three fallen brethren. Yellow blown engine. Beige bent frame.

Bobby drove him. Seven years’ Sioux Falls salt-roads pocked his sides. Bondo and bailing wire ’cause it never looked worth the investment to paint him. _That truck’s gonna kick it any day now,_ but—sub-zero a.m. after a.m., monster mashed, waterlogged, rolled, spun, cursed, and crashed—Frankentruck fired right up.

Dean got tall enough to reach the pedals and Bobby hung keys on a rowanwood charm. _He’s all yours, boy, but you only drive around the property, y’understand?_

_Yes, sir!_

Barefoot brothers, creekside. Root beers in a busted cooler and slap fights, pissing for distance contests. Drive-ins, later, and girls—

_You know, you could paint this thing._

_Frankentruck? Nah. I like him just like he is._

—giggles.

Perched on a hillside east of Dell Rapids, cavalry— _ghouls_ and _nest_ and _backup now!_ —and for reasons nobody questions, Frankentruck’s parking brake broke. And he started to creep.

And if he were a thinker, Frankentruck might have thought of men and boys, their blood in his seats. Or black asphalt or yellow grass. Slow itchy crawl of rust up under his wheel wells. Snow-tires, giggling girls and double features and—

Dean went back. Stole a car and circled six, seven times past the police tape. Mismatched sky-blue tailgate stuck out, unburned, front-end crushed under scorched bricks. Dean idled. _We got out because of you._ And he waited for dark, and he pried off the F. And he buried it—in a shoebox behind a shed next to Sammy’s sixth-grade class hamster—keys and rowanwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: “Family don’t end in blood, boy!” -Bobby, 3x16; submitted by **[madebyme_x](http://madebyme-x.livejournal.com)**. (Please forgive me for weirding up your prompt?  >.>)


	7. Carrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much classic wholesome Sassy
> 
> hurt-comfort-ish, post-episode 12x07, “Rock Never Dies”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by **[holy holy holy](http://saintedsam.tumblr.com/post/157884024816/holy-holy-holy-sastiel-trueform-sexytimes-sketch)** , glorious, slightly NSFW artwork by [saintedsam](http://saintedsam.tumblr.com)!  
> (Teen, trueform Sastiel)

 

Crooked knuckles and calluses  
shovel and gun, Palm Scar  
and, palm scars, dozens for  
spells: safe-circles, summonings.

Red doors, buckling  
not even demon blood  
_full-on brick shithouse, Sam_  
or no, maybe so on blood  
because, what man ever  
out-muscled Satan’s mojo?

Cas? Am I still—  
Forearm touch leaches heat  
not-quite-brown-out— _  
_

_Sam_.

Flinch against shards  
that never shatter. _  
_

_Your Will exceeds my brother’s._  
_How many times must you—_

Weightlessness. _  
_

_Keep your eyes closed._

Freeze-searing wingtips  
circle and wind  
knees-down numb. _  
_

_This is how strong you are._

Subtle bumping footfalls  
Where are we going?  
Grace-smile shines  
right through tight lids. _  
_

_I don’t know, Sam._  
_You’re carrying me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http:spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: saintedsam's breathtaking artwork


	8. Fruity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [apostrophe](http://www.poetryfoundation.org)-ish, meta, self-insert, giggles and nonsense

Muse!Dean collar pops  
his leather jacket;  
ring and amulet—

Glint?  
Where is the sun, is he in the Bunker? _  
_

_Not with this costume, sister._

Right.

ring and amulet glint.  
Brother’s Keeper,  
for whom angels fall,  
demons repent. _  
_

_Yeaahh that ain’t happened yet either_ _,  
Captain Anachronism;_ __  
where you even headed with this thing?

You know…  
*slams down pen*  
You wanna go?  
Winchester? _  
_

_Yeah._  
He cocks his hips; chin tips. _  
Why you gotta make me a fruity poet?_

Sweetie  
(he bristles at ‘sweetie’).

Way he licks that bottom lip,  
clench and flinch and flirt and strut.  
Eyes a moon’s worth of green cheesy  
allusions. Hostess cupcake center  
of a porcupine skin. Wheel of a cherry  
car, dirt and grease-creased  
knuckles crack and writhing  
muscles in his back and  
Sam-smiles.  
Skin and scar and blood and bone…

Honey  
(he don’t hate ‘honey’).  
You ain’t a poet.

Tight jerky nod, _  
Damn straight._

You’re a poem. __  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com).  
> No reasonable connection to any prompt, though I started thinking about the jacket.


	9. Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam & Dean, brother shenanigans

[ ](https://laughablelament.tumblr.com/post/159547895055/laughablelament-day-9-of-wincestmas-dean)

Catgut, Sam thinks, is a violin thing.

_Gutting_ a cat, Sam’s sure, wouldn’t sound  
much worse, and would’ve ended in death’s  
sweet respite by now.

“Don’tcha like m’singin, Sammy? Look like  
ya swallowed a bug.” Shtrunk-shtrunk. “C’mon. Yell,  
‘Freebird!!’”

“That is not happening.”

Dean goes on caterwaulin, and Sam blurts,  
“How can you play the guitar? I never  
saw you hold one until—”

“Dude, I can’t play; this is—”

“Bullshit.”

Dean gets stiff.

Because earlier,   
Sam walked in on him pickin Dylan:

_“I can’t use it,” strum, “any—fuck—m-mo-more—”  
and a muttered, “There, you little bastard.”_

“You don’t have to tell me.” Sam rubs down Dean’s  
arm. “You don’t have to, make a big joke of  
it either okay? This is…” annnd backhand  
the compliment, “uncharacteristically  
cool of my big bro.”

“Eat me.” Soft punch, Sam’s arm.

“Not a chance.” Punch back. “I will go get dinner  
though. Give you and Lucille some privacy.”

“Dude, no. Lucille is taken.”

Sam grins. “Sure, Dean,” and on his way out,  
“She needs a name though!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Artwork! by the inimitable [nisaki-chan](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com)  
> Thank you for my wonderful Wincestmas! ♥
> 
> (Tiny speck of lyrics from "Knockin on Heaven's Door")


	10. Amen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monologue: Dean in prayer
> 
> (hey look, another 12x18 coda. no real spoilers though)

Cas?

 _Won’t answer your phone, can’t hurt to—_

M’worried about Sam, man. Last time I seen him hunt this hard, half of him was still the devil’s chew toy. Now he’s all gung-ho for these British assholes, and I’m—

_too tired to argue._

skeptical.

Look, pal. I’m worried about you too. You ain’t always done so hot on your own, you know what I’m sayin? And I hope that pisses you off enough to show up here and bitch me out about it.

_Where are you?_

Amen, I guess.

_you feathery—_

Oh, except for the part where we’re working for Ketch now, apparently.

_That mother—_

Backup, Cas. 

_Hope you’re okay._

M’serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](http://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Prayer


	11. From the Men of Letters Junior Initiate Research Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ephemera, I guess. Not a poem but experimental?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted to [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: graveyard dirt


	12. Wash and Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That laundromat scene we all still wish for

Fluorescents pop over rows of molded  
yellow plastic, mildew under bleach stink.  
Chunk of change, goblin guts gonna take two  
cycles. Bicycle cards and boxer shorts,  
matches for stake.

                                Got any eights?

                                                             Go fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: laundromat


	13. Rowena Ships It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much power

I propose to teach you spellcraft.  
  
Sam laughs, _No._  
  
So you sidle t’wards him, great hairy ape,  
lay a warnin finger against his chest.  
  
Hear me, Sam Winchester.  
Your blood thrums, tainted and sanctified, and  
you fling it about, play at magic. No  
idea what you’re capable of and  
we’ll all be damned if you bugger up.  
  
 _Shut up._  
  
So much power, just to constrain so much  
power. So afraid, what will your brother  
say? Dean doesn’t get a say. Get control  
or you’ll get consumed.  
  
 _Get out._  
  
Aye, I’ll go. But y’mark me.  
  
Vanish in a flourish.  
  
You’ll call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> No prompt, just a headcanon I've been kicking around (also sorry for this title)


	14. Reverend Roy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If he is he’s riding the whirlwind. It’s like putting a dog leash on a Great White.” -Sam, 1x12 (Faith)

Mashed-up Fonzie/Strangelove:  
old blind preacher, glasses  
wavin, hoop-hollerin into  
oblivion. Funnel-cloud  
sled team, _Jaws_ -dogs. Nec-  
romantic (wo)manmade  
death pets waitin to chomp.  
  
Or, that time Sam  
pre-cogni-visioned _Sharknado!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: the quotation above


	15. Extra Crunchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tried to protect them 
> 
> (episode 5x01 “Sympathy for the Devil”)

Palm-sweat damp calfskin  
clutched bone-crushed  
herbs. Demon-witch  
ex-girlfriend trick—  
 _I made them—_  
Dean’s face.  
  
 _You’re a natural, Sam,_ echoes.  
Shelter from Heaven and Hell  
(but not #######) so,  
big crack at magic  
charred under Cas’s  
rib-remodeling grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: hex bag


	16. Classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doombuggy 
> 
> (Episode 10x05 “Fan Fiction,” dialogue-only)

No-no-no-no you guys! My cousin’s roommate saw it. Allll black, huge fins off the back, grill like a Hellmouth. Said it had, demonic symbols painted on the trunk, and the guys driving had these bright, inhuman eyes…

Bullll- _shit_. I saw them on YouTube. Was just two psychos shooting up diners on some kinda, gay-incest-murder spree. Yeah they had a sick car but it’s no kinda—

Omen. That’s what I heard. If you see the black Impala just, take a vacation.

What about you, Marie? This kinda, urban legend shit’s your _thing._

You guys really wanna know? ’Cause you might think you know, but you don’t know…

Ugh. Here we go…

Baby’s a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: ~~curses~~ Baby's 50th birthday!


	17. State Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam counts the mile-markers
> 
> (episode 12x02 coda, Hallucifer)

Chair.  
Chains.  
Lucifer:  
 _fucked-her-and-you-LIKED-it_  
Shiver.  
Pain/cold/no?  
Must’ve been heat.  
Still stinks burnt meat.  
 _poor sam_  
 _wish-she’d-just-go-on-and-kill-you_  
 _don’t you_  
Blink.  
Glare,  
feet on the stairs:  
boots,  
and bow—  
oh no.  
 _can’t torture a guy with nothing left to_  
Shackled smirk.  
Flies fast past that…

LEAVING MISSOURI  
 _are you sure_  
COME AGAIN  
 _ _’s_ too cheap even for me_  
Flex.  
Fingers tingle,  
healing residual.  
Car smells right:  
leather,  
sweat,  
hushed blood and death.  
 _except_  
Blonde head.

WELCOME TO KANSAS  
Mile marker,  
consecutive.  
 _so far_  
Sharp thumbnail,  
horseshoe scar.  
Count on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Missouri


	18. Seeds and Sticks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poet-insert, spoken word, shenanigans. Literal cry for help as I barrel toward the finish.

Laughable cops  
a squat and pops  
her poem sack.  
Seeds and sticks stare back.

O, Chuck, who art— _wherever_ , she prays.  
Goose me the juice, just five live days  
to spit this shit, hot fire, get lit:  
funk rhymes and punchlines, lingo legit.

Yea.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow  
of tropes, prose, typos, and shallow flows,  
show me the dough to compose dope rows.  
Swing low; bestow cold gold: _bon mots_ ,  
salt loads, soul bros and lonesome roads…

My cup runneth dry, Chuck.

So.

Float me a ghost of a season past;  
gift me a riff on Sammy’s ass.  
Grant me a rant about bougie booze;  
boon me the tune of a Lost Shoe Blues.  
Spot me a hot Wincest oneshot,  
_yaoi satori_ , a casepoem plot?

Deliver me from jank clichés!  
Goose me the juice, Chuck. Five live days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: oh look prayer again


	19. Tiller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dying gardener’s last words

You always hated  
weeding. Kneeling. Strong  
stems, twisted around  
your fist, uprooted.  
  
Gardening’s dirty  
business, of course,  
mass-destruct deadhead  
dying blooms, pluck back  
petals and prune shoots.  
  
Thorns: last violent  
act under the rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: Cleveland Botanical Garden


	20. One More for the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nocturne: a night song, scene, or vigil

Two lanes, black top. Rust  
belt radio. Plant  
blasts; Sammy’s grinnin.

Downwindow weather.

Headlights: Motel, food,  
a girl, some booze, cheap.

Open casket  
bonfire roars  
in the rearview.  
Road re-routed,  
graves up-rooted.  
Salt-dirt-ash and  
a mild concussion.

No matter what those British shit-  
heads execute, ghosts gonna stir.

Highway hits a bluff  
longside a river.  
Big moon sparks silver.  
Somewhere, werewolf chow—

Can’t save em all.

Seat creaks; Sam balls up  
his coat for a window pillow.  
_Don’t drive all night._

 _Yes, Mom_. Flush. _I mean—_

Sam flicks fingers,  
figure of speech.

Scare up Classic Hits  
with the volume low.  
Winchester cradle.  
Soft snuffle-snores, and  
Jackson Browne loads out,  
_oh won’t you stay?_

Bridge. County line, state  
line, edge of the FM.  
Static signal flares  
and finally flips  
to a fire-and-  
brimstone preacherman.

Click off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cross-posted from [spnapo](https://spnapo.livejournal.com)  
> Prompt: spirits and their tethers (it drifted)
> 
> Title from [this classic good-bye](https://youtu.be/D3qPgZJEaL4).
> 
> Hey thanks, everyone!


End file.
